


Judgment - The Zosan Extras

by MyLadyDay



Series: Judgment [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Prostitution, Renaissance AU, Venice, a brief stabbing, artist sanji, courtesan zoro, the last judgement au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 06:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17782016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLadyDay/pseuds/MyLadyDay
Summary: Zoro reacted as Sanji thought he would, undoing the string as a response to the challenge Sanji barely voiced, before he was carefully moving the mask to the side, placing it on the far end of the bed. His eyes were glued to Sanji’s face, taking in his features until their eyes met, and Zoro leaned down, pressing their lips together in a kiss that was anything but chaste.Originally a part of The Last Judgement, these are the never posted parts of the Zosan side of the story. These will remain unfinished. (These are all 3 years old at the very least and not edited or beta'd)





	Judgment - The Zosan Extras

**The last judgement - Chapter 2**

Models staying through the night was not an uncommon practice, but Sanji didn't have a problem admitting that he could do without it. He was also very aware that Usopp felt the same, seeing as he had always been the one to show the ladies out after Sanji already started his day. Usopp wasn't very thrilled by that particular part of his employment, but it was one task he found himself doing one too many times. Taking into account that Mona* Alvida was a married woman, her departure after their session was very much welcomed. Without any amount of heartache, Sanji knew he would not be seeing her in that particular setting anymore with her painting finished and her husband’s patronage over.

Sanji awoke in a blissfully empty bed with Usopp's incessant knocking on the door. No matter how mild the winter, the air in his room was frigid on the limited amount of exposed skin, and Sanji made no attempt to get out from under the heavy weight of blankets and quilts filled with the finest geese feathers. There was absolutely nothing worth getting out of the warmth for, in his humble opinion. Usopp would know if he bothered to ask about Sanji’s opinion, that is, which he did not. The knocking came to a halt, and he decided to enter the room, all invite, or the lack of, be damned. Sanji was, yet again, contemplating kicking his assistant out for such rude behavior.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Usopp asked in a tone that betrayed his irritation. Sanji was a second away from replying, but a heavy meowing weight dropping onto his head shut him up. Sanji cursed, but decided that Usopp would live through the day on the simple account of him not biting his tongue when the cat made contact with his head. The same cat nuzzled into the warmth of his neck, digging into the comforter in an attempt to crawl under it and probably nest along with Sanji.

"It is time for you to take that cat out of my bed," Sanji replied, still burrowed into his lair of warmth. The cursed cat started purring, its furry mass vibrating pressed against his neck, and he yelped in a manner that did nothing to assert his authority. Of course, Usopp hardly acknowledged any authority from Sanji, mainly because of the miniscule age difference between them, that of only one year, but also because Sanji never treated him as a simple servant. They were friends, brothers even. Nothing would change that fact, not even Sanji's insistence on acting like a mere child and refusing to get out of bed.

"No, it is time for you to get up and do your job," Usopp said with far more authority than Sanji could muster at the moment. "You have to visit Marco, you know."

It was the last part of that statement that made Sanji snap his eyes open and jolt up in bed, giving Venus the perfect opportunity to crawl under the covers. He let her be as he had more pressing matters at hand. Even if Marco wasn't his teacher anymore, Sanji was not inclined to be late to a meeting with him. Especially considering the matter of their impending discussion.

“How do you know that?” Sanji asked, trying to think when he had shared that information, but he could remember nothing of the sort.

“One of Marco’s apprentices came by this morning with a message,” Usopp said with a smirk. “I guess Marco still remembers your poor morning routine.”

Seeing as his so called master finally showed an intent to get out of bed, Usopp walked out of the room, leaving the cat under the covers. Sanji wasn't bothered by the animal at the moment, thoughts of the meeting with the city's most powerful merchant filling his head. He still harbored doubts about the employment and whether or not he'd finish his part of it unscathed, but alas, he had no choice in the matter. The painting skills he worked on for years, however, were not up for debate and Sanji was well aware he could at least paint what was asked of him.

Usopp came back with a pitcher of steaming water, prompting Sanji out of his warm bed and into the chilly air around him, only momentarily jealous of the furry beast taking his place under the blanket. His bare feet touched the impossibly cold carpet as Usopp poured the water into the white ornamented basin in front of the mirror. Steam rose, tainting the glass and obscuring Sanji's reflection as Usopp set the pitcher down and moved away to find some suitable clothing for Sanji, even if it wasn't strictly necessary for him to do that. However, Sanji was aware that he would not get out of bed as easily had it not been for Usopp.

The steaming water didn't bother him as he washed his face and neck, running his wet fingers through the blond locks as his gaze fell onto the mirror. From that short distance, Sanji could see every imperfection on his face, most notably the dark circles around his eyes from lack of sleep. The cause of that was blatantly obvious to both him and Usopp, even if there were no comments on that particular topic this time. He was certain that the time spent on the commission in Verona would do him good, away from the city and its many temptations.

"I'll have breakfast ready by the time you get dressed," Usopp said as he set the clean shirt on top of the other carefully chosen clothing on the bed before digging out the displeased cat from its burrow. No matter how engrossed Sanji was in observing his less than perfect appearance, the cold air was nipping at his skin at an alarming speed, the wet surface of his skin and neck cooling off in a heartbeat. The towel he found draped over the footboard of his bed was soft and slightly warm as he dried himself, hurrying as much as he could while being thorough lest he wanted to freeze before breakfast. Sanji chuckled to himself at the thought of Usopp telling him to stop being dramatic as it wasn't even that cold. The weather was surprisingly warm considering it was early February, but Sanji was never one for winter, preferring the sunny summer days that came with low cut dresses and better lighting in his studio.

Discarding his night shirt and cringing at being completely bare in the frigid air, Sanji tried not to think of sunny days. The ladies in low cut dresses were always the cause of many problems, his current sleep deprived state included.

He dressed slowly, too immersed into thought. It was hard to remain oblivious of his own destructive behavior, just as Usopp knew of it all too well, but Sanji couldn't bring an end to it. The dangerous game of seducing all the noble women of the city wasn't exactly a game to him, per se. Trying to justify his own reckless actions, Sanji thought of it as the search for a muse. Each of those ladies was a muse at some point, inspiring him to no end while he painted them as the goddesses of ancient times. He worshiped them with fervor, giving them the love and adoration they deserved before the inspiration ran out and he set out to search for someone new to thrill and enthrall him.

The fact that most of those women were married or young daughters of esteemed rich men of the city did nothing to persuade him to stop. Neither did Usopp's pleading, for that matter. Sanji needed the perfect muse, or at least that was his excuse, and he had yet to find one. There was no way for him to surpass his master's achievements unless he found the embodiment of perfection to guide him there.

A chill running down his spine snapped him back into the real world, prompting him to finish dressing and hurry upstairs because unlike his bedroom, the kitchen was blissfully warm. Just the thought of it made his skin tingle as he pulled every piece of clothing on himself before making his way up the cold stone stairs. He didn't bother with buttoning up, deciding to do it in the warm confines of the kitchen rather than in the cold, no matter what Usopp might have to say about that.

As suspected, Usopp had plenty to say, but deemed it best not to bother, seeing as Sanji never listened. At least not when it came to the small matter of common decency to not change clothes in the kitchen or sleeping around with married women. Since scolding usually didn't work, Usopp turned back to the kettle as the water boiled. With practiced ease of making Sanji's tea for a fair number of years already, Usopp prepared the beverage in a porcelain teapot as usual, setting it on a wooden tray along with the bread, cheese and some fruit. 

“Tell me about the meeting. It’s a commission, isn’t it?” Usopp inquired as he set everything on the wooden table before sitting down to join Sanji for the meal. 

Sanji thought about the understatement that was Usopp’s question while he sipped his tea; Usopp was a most trusted partner, and Sanji wasn’t sure where he’d be without him. Usopp made all his brushes, prepared his canvases and mixed his colors mostly. Of course, that was supposed to be Sanji’s responsibility, but Usopp always seemed to handle everything before it was even strictly necessary. Not to mention, it was an important commission, one that would have to be finished as soon as possible and with him being the only artist hired, he would need all the help he could get.

“Yes, it is a big commission to decorate the new Portgas villa in Verona,” he said, swallowing a bite of fresh bread before continuing, “which Marco built and is decorating in sculptural work.” Usopp nodded, barely displaying any surprise, pouring himself some tea as he listened. “I am meeting Marco today to see about the theme set for the decorations and that is why I need new brushes and supplies.”

“When do you start?” Usopp asked next, his gaze on Sanji. “Am I coming with you?”

“In a week, and, yes, you are coming with me,” Sanji told him, picking up some more food from the platter. “I need you because it will be just Marco and me with this commission. I need all the help I can get.”

“Very well, I will start on the brushes if you leave me a list of what kind you need,” he said, always the diligent assistant. “Write down the supplies as well as I might go to the market today.”

Sanji simply nodded in reply and smiled as he continued eating. Usopp did all the things he did because he wanted to help, and Sanji thanked him any way he knew how, which usually meant anything but actually saying ‘thank you’. It was their way, their relationship since they were barely more than children in the streets of Venice. What Usopp had done for Sanji went beyond a simple ‘thank you’, and Sanji still had no idea how to repay that debt properly. He had tried not to think too much of it until he found a way, instead focusing on the commission at hand and the troubles it had brought to his life. 

For one, his excitement got the better of him the day before, and he had failed to realize that he only had one week to prepare supplies, but also to plan the entire thematic programme of the decorations. There were no preparation works ready, no ideas brewing in his head because he had no idea what Portgas wanted to see on his walls. Sanji hoped Marco had some solution for his trouble as he often had in the past. It was his only hope, in all honesty, unless he wanted to fail the most powerful man in the city and pay for it dearly. 

Attempting to shake off the grim thoughts, Sanji focused on his food, aware his appetite was dwindling the more he thought about what lay ahead. It had been unnerving since the whole affair had started and it had only been a day so far, the suspicions and doubts peeking their ugly heads when he was expecting it the least. Sanji had yet to consider all aspects of the commission, even if he had previously thought he had done so. 

The chime of a bell finally managed to disturb the line of his thoughts, and Sanji looked up to see Usopp stand, making his way downstairs towards the source of the bell. Every room in the house was equipped with the same leather string with a crystal attached to the end, every one of them leading through the walls towards the bells lined on the kitchen wall. Sanji could make an educated guess as to which bell it was this time; with only him and Usopp permanently residing in the house, only the front door bell was in use. Sanji had always found it unnecessary, using those bells when there were no servants in the house.

Usopp was, however, the one who always opened the door for visitors and settled affairs Sanji couldn’t be bothered with. Such as this one, as he was notified as soon as Usopp stepped back into the room. 

“Your costume arrived, I left it in your room,” he said. “Brook brought it by personally with a note that Franky is almost done with your mask. I will go there today and see when it might be done.”

A hum slipped from Sanji’s lips, acknowledging the words Usopp had said while his mind turned back to his previous worries, although for a different reason this time. He would miss almost the entire carnival this year, and Sanji lamented such injustice for the expensive costume he’d had made in the city’s most famous shop. Of course it was worth the small fortune, as well as the mask, no doubt, but the inability to use it through the entirety of the carnival was saddening. Sanji made peace with the fact his carnival would be less satisfying than usual, but the displeasure still lingered.

His freedom under the cover of the masquerade would last less than a week, his search for perfection cut short, and it was out of his hands. Sanji wasn’t used to that, giving his control over to someone he did not and would not trust. No matter how much money and fame Portgas had to offer him, it did not buy his trust. 

Sanji knew better than to assume that Marco had a more positive opinion of his employer, but of course he would never say those words aloud in a city where walls held ears leading to the Portgas palace, conveying whatever slander was uttered against the family. With his thoughts straying to Marco, however, Sanji finished his meal and stood from the table, fully prepared to visit the workshop he once called home, even if only for a short while. 

Leaving the house and walking through the city went by in a blur for him with Usopp left to do his work without uttering a goodbye before stepping out of the house; he was already used to Sanji’s odd moods and sudden bouts of antisocial behavior. 

Sanji hurried through the almost deserted city, avoiding the few other citizens he encountered. For once, he paid no heed to the curious glances cast his way and simply moved through the familiar streets and alleys on a path he hadn’t taken in years. The memories with Usopp brought a smile to his face, one that remained there until he found himself knocking on the side door of Marco’s workshop.

The door opened almost instantly, revealing a frazzled looking apprentice Sanji did not know, who let him inside without a question or a word about where Marco might be. He could guess, knowing where his separate studio used to be, and Sanji promptly made his way towards the familiar door. The workshop looked very different from what he remembered, mostly because it was cluttered with sculptures, blocks of stone and heavy tools rather than the painting supplies and easels that covered the space when Sanji had been an apprentice there. It did bring back fond memories, though, of him making a poor excuse of a horsehair brush before his affinity for mixing pigments was discovered, thus changing his daily task into making paints for Marco. Odd how it seemed like such a mundane task back then when he felt he had been ready to paint straight away, yet now he could see it for what it actually was; Marco giving him the opportunity to understand color better and appreciate it more.

The knock on the dark wood of the studio door was almost lost in the noise of the workshop around him, already debating whether to knock again or simply enter when the door opened, and Marco all but ran into him in his haste to leave the room. Sanji may not have seen Marco in several years in this proximity, but he was sure such distress was not something he had ever seen on Marco’s face before. He usually gave off an impression of disinterest and boredom, his eyes perpetually at half mast, but the dark circles were new, to the point that they hadn’t been there yesterday at the meeting. It was an astonishing change, one that shocked Sanji to the core just as his sudden presence seemed to surprise Marco.

“Sanji,” Marco said, lowering his head in greeting as he once again schooled his features into the usual stoic mask, “I was not expecting you this early.” He let the corner of his mouth curl into a smirk, teasing for Sanji’s habit of sleeping too long, a cardinal sin for an artist because of all the daylight lost. Sanji saw the ruse for what it was, an attempt to distract him from the exhausted look on Marco’s face, and he was glad to oblige, for once.

“Perhaps it means I am growing old,” Sanji replied smoothly. “After all, rising early seems to be easier for you old masters.” He mirrored the smirk Marco showed him, before smiling fully as Marco let out a laugh. Marco’s eyes made a swift motion towards the room he was about to exit, a flash of anguish crossing his features, before he was inviting Sanji in as if it never happened.

“Come inside, we have matters to discuss.”

Sanji acknowledged the invitation with a nod, entering the room he’d only ever been inside of perhaps half a dozen times over a decade ago. It was just as ethereal looking as he remembered, with the wall of glass windows that bathed everything with light, including the perfect white block of marble left in the middle of the room. Marco’s face seemed almost pained as he glanced at it, which he did only for the briefest of moments, before he closed the door and turned his attention to Sanji.

“I know this commission was unexpected and the deadline is abrupt, so I’ve made a theme plan with that in mind,” Marco started, walking towards the small desk cluttered with papers. “Most of the pieces required are works similar to ones you already painted in the past so the preparation on those should be easier.” 

Sanji took off his hat as he listened, mind already sifting through paints he had made through the years. Some were already perfected, others needed changes he could easily make, but nonetheless this was good news for him.

“You are to paint the chapel walls and ceiling with scenes from the Old Testament with the expulsion from the garden of Eden as the centrepiece. The others are themes from mythology,” Marco spoke as he rifled through some papers, presumably for the list he was to give to Sanji. Not a moment later, he seemingly found what he was looking for, handing the paper to Sanji. 

“The list is not short, but there are only few pieces that require some serious thought. The biggest wall paintings are the landscapes of your design for the dining room and young master Portgas’ chambers, the illusion ceiling painting** for the entryway, and the landscape of Venice for the parlour. The painting of Danae is for the wall in the master bed chambers, and the rest are for his  _ studiolo _ .” Marco listed everything as Sanji read the same words on the paper, though detailed information was scarce. 

However, he had already painted all of the mythological themes, as macabre as they seemed for someone’s study. Perseus saving Andromeda from the monster was one of his favorites, as well as the second scene on the list, that of Prometheus; even if Sanji liked the story of Prometheus bringing fire to mankind better than the scene of his punishment he would have to paint. The myth of Sisyphus was just as odd a choice for a wall painting, and Sanji felt a shiver run down his spine. Scenes of death and torture were hardly common practice for a  _ studiolo _ , a room where Roger would hold meetings and no doubt frighten those that entered that room all the more with these images. The rape of Europa was last on the list, marked as the biggest piece for this room.

Sanji looked up from the paper and glanced at Marco who was looking at him with an intense gaze. Clearly, some, if not most, of his shock must have shown on his face, for Marco smiled reassuringly at him, already knowing what was on his mind. 

“If it helps, the young master prefers depictions of the sea over those of land,” he said, not voicing his understanding of Sanji’s terror. Only a heartless man would surround himself with images of violence and torture like this, yet there was no choice for Sanji in the matter. The myths and stories he once enjoyed reading as research for his art were now tainted by fear of what might happen to him should he fail in this commission. He nodded absentmindedly at the words Marco offered, seeing them for the comfort they are, as he pondered whether he should inquire about the chosen themes or not.

His thoughts were cut short by a forceful knock at the door before it opened, revealing the same frazzled assistant that let Sanji into the workshop. 

“ _ Maestro _ , your model for the David is here,” the assistant spoke.

“Give us a moment, we are done with our meeting,” Marco said, to which the assistant nodded and left the room, once again closing the door as Marco continued. “Well, you would do better to go home and start preparing. Most of the commissioned pieces are fairly straightforward, but should you need help, don’t hesitate to visit me. I will send an assistant with information about our travel arrangements.”

With that, they were finished and Sanji was grateful for the straightforwardness Marco possessed, leaving him free to start his work that same day without losing too much natural light. Sanji was already on his way towards the door as he said his goodbye, noting that Marco seemed tired and weary with every passing second, but was allowed nothing more than a brief smile before he back in the bustling space of the workshop, the door still opened behind him with Marco in the doorway. 

He didn’t dwell on it, knowing full well that Marco’s private life was none of his business; they were far from friends these days, a fact that might change as they worked together in this villa. Sanji could almost feel the intensity of an inquiring gaze on him as he placed the hat back on his head, swiftly glancing around the room until his gaze landed on a pair of dark eyes framed by freckles staring right at him. The face seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it, yet that hardly mattered as he was looked upon with such intensity and curiosity, thinly veiled hostility not far behind. 

The stranger’s gaze shifted, leaving Sanji’s face in favor of looking past him, and Sanji swore he saw hurt in those eyes, as expressive as they were, but he continued on his way towards the exit without sparing the man a second glance. After all, freckles were an imperfection he was not interested in as a part of his new muse, and with that last thought, the stranger was out of Sanji’s musings by the time he reached the door, his mind already wrapped around the list he tucked safely into his belt.

* * *

 

**The last judgement - Chapter 3**

Despite what Sanji might have expected, the cat was starting to grow on him. She was a nice companion to have in the studio, taking some of the loneliness away while he worked on the commissions he still had left. It was odd, watching her lounge on the same sofa so many of his past models had posed on wearing nothing, mostly.

The change between having those women, some of the richest women in the city, and this stray cat in the studio with him was almost shocking. Yet, he couldn't imagine anyone else there with him in that moment. The carnival had started, after all, and he was already in a different mood. Perhaps the cat’s presence in the studio suggested as much, but he wasn’t one to really question it. After all, he was used to the shift in his interests every time the carnival rolled around, replacing the rich women in his bed with men.

Usopp was used to it as well, for that matter, which was why he knew better than to ask too much. Not that he had a habit of asking much about what Sanji was doing at carnival. 

Just as he thought of Usopp, Sanji heard a knock on the door barely a moment before Usopp peeked in. 

“You have a visitor,” Usopp said, and Sanji could hear a note of confusion in his voice. “Someone French.”

“I don’t have time for visitors,” Sanji said without looking away from his painting. “Tell them to come back tomorrow around noon. How do you know they’re french?”

“French name, spoke French, says he’s from France,” Usopp listed. “I think that pretty much sums it up. And he seems insistent. I’m pretty sure he might tackle me and break in if I tell him you don’t have time for an audience.”

Sanji sighed, even if his focus never strayed from the canvas. “Fine,” he said, but made sure the tone of his voice conveyed just how reluctantly he was doing this, “let him in. Though do make sure he understands I’m busy and won’t stop painting for the life of me.”

“As you wish, sir,” Usopp said in an exaggeratedly polite manner, like he usually did when Sanji became bossy. Sanji snorted at that, but as promised, didn’t stop painting. 

He heard the door click closed when Usopp left, but wasn’t paying attention to the voices speaking just outside the studio. Other things were higher on his list of priorities. 

Sanji was certain this mysterious visitor was a would-be patron, someone wanting to commission him, but he knew he’d have to regretfully decline, maybe tell them to come back in a few months when he returned from Verona. It was nothing but a passing thought, though, the current painting he was working on and the carnival later that day were far more important in that moment. That was probably the reason Sanji missed the sound of the door being opened, his mind focused on just finishing this thing before he could finally have some fun. He was itching from anticipation, knowing Izou probably had something special in store for him as he usually did. 

“You haven’t changed at all, have you?” 

His blood ran cold as soon as that voice reached him, one he hadn’t heard in years and the last he expected to hear this far from Calais. Sanji could feel his hand shake, the brush suspended only centimeters from the canvas, but he hardly saw it, his gaze unfocused. He was lost in the memory of the last time he’d heard Gin speak to him, yelling at him from the docks to stop his nonsense and come back home just before the merchant ship Sanji had boarded left the port. Sanji knew, to this day, that the only reason he hadn’t been, dragged back home was the fact he paid enough for the captain to refuse Gin and his father’s guards to board the ship as well. 

“Not even going to say hello, Sanji?” Gin spoke again, closer this time and Sanji snapped out of it, letting his hand drop down to his side at last. He gathered his wits, took a deep breath as silently as he could before he turned around. 

“How did you find me?” 

For all the words he wanted to say, his mind betrayed him and that question came out first. He felt like a child again, running from home and from under his father’s thumb, afraid and suddenly all alone in the world. Sanji hadn’t felt this kind of fear in almost a decade and honestly, he thought he never would again. 

“You’re quite famous these days, you know,” Gin said, calm in a way Sanji couldn’t be, not in his presence. “Word of your success and talent reached all the way to Calais.”

“Why are you here, Gin?” Sanji asked, gaining strength from the hate he felt for his family and everyone who worked for his father. Especially Gin; a friend, a confidant, a damn traitor who stabbed him in the back the first chance he got.

“I’m here to take you home, Sanji,” Gin said, and Sanji felt nauseated at the sound of his name coming from Gin’s mouth. The feeling only got worse when Gin walked closer, slowly lifting his hand and letting his fingers slide gently over Sanji’s cheek. The touch would have been intimate once, welcomed even. Not anymore, though. The time for that had passed long ago.

“This is my home,” Sanji said, slapping Gin’s hand away. “And you’re not wanted here,” he added, harsh and cold, willing himself to stay calm and get Gin to leave as soon as possible.

“Your father wants you back,” Gin said, as if Sanji hadn’t spoken at all. He lifted his hand again, obviously ignoring the anger on Sanji’s face. “You’re more beautiful than you’d ever been,” he added, quietly, his gaze focused on where his hand was touching Sanji’s neck. Almost as if he was no longer talking to Sanji. 

That, along with the fact Gin acted as if he owned Sanji, made anger rise inside Sanji like it hadn’t in a really long time. He let the brush drop from his hand to the floor before he pushed Gin as far from himself as he could.

“My father is dead,” Sanji said, anger pouring out with the words. “And you are not welcome here!” he shouted, his fists clenching at his side. 

Gin looked alarmed, maybe slightly afraid even, and Sanji couldn’t be more glad about it, but he seemed to collect himself faster than Sanji would have liked.

“Your father wants you to come home and do your part for the family,” Gin said, pulling an envelope out of his cloak before handing it to Sanji. “I’m not leaving Venice without you,” he added, tucking the envelope into Sanji’s shirt when it became clear that Sanji wasn’t about to take it.

“I’d rather you went willingly, but you’re coming with me either way,” Gin said, backing away towards the door. “I’ll be back for you tomorrow,” he said with a smile, one that did nothing to soothe or calm Sanji, before he slipped out and closed the door behind himself.

As soon as he was gone, Sanji took a deep breath trying to calm himself enough to think rationally. He didn’t want to run again, but he didn’t see another option at the moment. Gin wouldn’t give up and leave for no reason, especially if Sanji’s father sent him. And Sanji really didn’t want to go back.

“Are you alright?” Usopp asked from the doorway, and Sanji couldn’t really tell when he’d come in. “Who was that?”

“I’m fi-” Sanji started, but the lie got stuck in his throat. “Well, I’m not alright, but I will be,” he said instead, resigned to having no secrets with Usopp.

“Who was he, Sanji?” Usopp asked, the worry more than clear in his voice. Sanji didn’t even have to look at him to know.

“He works for my father,” Sanji said softly before he sighed, fishing the envelope out of his shirt. Usopp came closer, bending down to pick up the brush Sanji had dropped. “And apparently, he came to take me back to France.”

Usopp snorted, and Sanji finally looked up from the letter addressed to him, seeing Usopp’s disbelieving face. He felt calm spread through him, replacing the anger and fear the longer Usopp stood by his side and made him realize a very important thing; Sanji was no longer a child. His father didn’t own him. 

“As if he could just take you back by force,” Usopp said, and Sanji had to smile at the unwavering faith Usopp had. “You leave for Verona soon and there is nothing he can do about it.”

“You’re right,” Sanji admitted with a smile, setting the envelope amongst his paints to take the brush from Usopp’s hand instead. “Of course you are.”

“You should finish for today and go have fun,” Usopp told him gently, using that tone he used only when Sanji needed reassurance. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed it and Sanji really could have done without needing it now. But Usopp helped greatly, even if he barely used any words at all to calm the worry.

“And you’re right again,” Sanji said, grinning at Usopp until he grinned back.

“I see you and Venus are friends now,” Usopp said a moment later, glancing over at the cat still sleeping on the sofa. Sanji was grateful for the change of subject even though he was much calmer now than when Usopp came in. 

“I wouldn’t call us friends just yet,” Sanji said, sounding serious even though he was smiling as he turned and grabbed a clean brush. 

“Well, I will give you time to become friends, then,” Usopp said, sounding amused as ever. “Your costume and mask are set out on your bed, but you are going to have to put it on yourself because I have other plans,” he added, though he didn’t offer anything more about the subject.

“What kind of plans?” Sanji asked anyway, but he wasn’t expecting any details. 

“Private plans,” Usopp said, as expected, before he made his way to the door. “Have fun and try not to piss people off, please.”

With that, he was gone, closing the door behind him with a soft click, leaving Sanji alone with the sleeping cat and the almost finished painting. Gin was still a firm presence, somewhere in the back of his mind, but Sanji did his best not to think of him, focusing on painting and what awaited him after he was done. 

Somehow, putting the finishing touches on the painting was easier if he let his mind wander, far from Gin and the almost forgotten memories of his childhood. The present was more important, as was his future and neither of those included the family he’d left behind so long ago. His life was his own and he’d rather think about the carnival than anything else. 

As soon as he was done with the painting, Sanji picked up the letter and the cat and left the studio, heading for his bedroom. He made sure to lock the doors to prevent Venus from getting inside and wreaking havoc while he was gone. She was free to move about through the rest of the house, though, so Sanji let her down in his room to start getting dressed while she jumped on his bed and burrowed there to continue her nap. At this point, he was beyond even pretending this bothered him. 

The costume he ordered was made of rich heavy fabrics, in the form of a long dark blue cloak with a hood. The entire surface of it was embroidered with silver thread and white pearls, resembling the night sky littered with stars. It was a stark contrast to the white porcelain mask sitting in the wooden box further up the bed, the shape of a crescent moon painted over the white surface in fine silver lines. 

It was completely beautiful and meant to hide his identity in every way. 

There were eyes on him whenever he left his house, people staring and noticing him no matter where he went, and usually, Sanji enjoyed the attention. But the carnival was his chance at anonymity, one that he took readily every year without fail. Izou helped with that in great part, but so did his costume. He blended into the crowd, passing by unnoticed until he was in the safe haven of Izou’s palace with a room ready for him. 

So getting dressed was easy; a shirt and a pair of dark hose were enough for him to wear under the heavy cloak that both kept him warm and hid everything he might have been wearing underneath. It certainly made things easier to take off, when the time came. He was dressed and ready to go in a matter of half an hour, just as the sun had set and the city was lit up by lanterns and torches, looking warm and inviting. 

With the costume on as a safety blanket, Sanji reached for the envelope he set down when he had let Venus go, and tore it open, dreading whatever it was that was written in it. No matter how much Sanji wished it didn’t affect him, he knew it would in the end. There was only a single sheet of paper inside, filled with a handwriting Sanji didn’t recognize. He sincerely doubted his father actually took the time to write it anyway.

Sanji read through the letter, mind completely blank for a moment because he couldn’t comprehend what was being asked of him. No, what he was being ordered to do. Because that’s what the letter was, an order for him to come back and fulfill his duty to the family by marrying to some noble lady they’ve chosen for him. There was no explanation, not that he needed one to know it was nothing but a ploy for political reasons. 

Even before reading, Sanji knew he wouldn’t want any part of whatever his family wanted and reading the letter did nothing to change his mind. He ripped the paper up without a shred of remorse and threw it into the fireplace. There were only embers of a fire left, but it was enough to burn the scraps of paper until they were completely gone. As if there never was a letter, and Sanji preferred it that way. He fastened the mask under his hood and without a second thought to the letter or Gin, Sanji made his way downstairs. 

As soon as he stepped into the street, he could hear music coming from everywhere, different songs and instruments blending in the air with sounds of laughter. It was just the distraction he needed, though he could have sworn someone was watching him from the moment he walked out. 

He should have worried about that most likely, but Sanji knew no one would be able to follow him into Izou’s palace. The guards never let strangers in without Izou’s say so, after all, and Izou was his friend. Still, Sanji did his best to disappear into the crowd as soon as he could, surrounding himself with laughter and music and as many people as possible. There was no way to move fast like this, but Sanji still made some progress, turning into alleyways when he could to make the walk as short as possible. 

The palace wasn’t very far, though, even when trying to navigate through a crowd as rowdy and intoxicated as this one and the palace doors were within sight mere moments later. It made Sanji feel safe, in a way, knowing his past wouldn’t follow him inside. 

The guards let him in once he recited the password Izou had sent him a while ago, and oddly, Sanji could breathe easier once he was inside, surrounded by the smell of perfume and laughter. Most of the voices were ones he could recognize, both from spending time there every year for carnival and because most of the people working for Izou had modeled for Sanji’s paintings at one point or another. They were all amazing people, beautiful as well as interesting and smart. More often than not, Sanji enjoyed their company better than that of Venice’s richest and noblest of citizens. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Sanji saw a glimmer of gold that drew his attention for a moment, but he continued on towards Izou at the centre of the courtyard, with a guard by his side. 

“As enchanting as ever,” he said as he bowed in front of Izou, noting the way his guard went tense for a moment. “It is a pleasure to see you again.” 

Sanji didn’t have the habit of visiting outside of the carnival, and Izou didn’t have the habit of leaving the palace just for anything. They saw each other on fewer occasions than Sanji would have liked, only in part because he would have loved to paint Izou as well if he ever got the chance.

“You as well,” Izou said, glancing at his guard, obviously anything but oblivious to the change in the guard’s posture. “I have a surprise for you this time,” he continued with that smile of his and a glint in his eyes that never bode well. “In your usual room. I think you know the way well by now. Enjoy!”

“Thank you,” was all Sanji said, bowing his head again before he turned away and left Izou to his guests.

He let anticipation fill him and drive everything else out, the worry, fear and hate for his father, because he deserved this. It was something he indulged in only for this short period of time, and Sanji wouldn’t let anyone take it from him. That was what preoccupied his mind as he walked up the stairs and towards the room always reserved for him, with the bright gold ribbon tied around the doorknob to signal the room was taken because the door wasn’t locked. 

There was a moment of nervousness, just before he opened the door, because he had no idea what was waiting for him inside the room. He was both nervous and excited, thrilled in a way he didn’t let himself be most of the time. But he took a deep breath then opened the door, refusing to look up until the door was safely closed and locked behind him. The key was, of course, left in the lock, but it put him at ease, knowing no one could come in without him being aware of it.

Only then did he look up, towards the big four poster bed opposite the door, illuminated by the fire crackling away in the fireplace. There was enough light for Sanji to know  that the bed wasn’t empty and that the entire room had been redecorated since the last time he’d been there. The entire scene made him pause, hand itching for a brush and an empty canvas. 

The whole expanse of the bed was covered in silk the color of the ocean, bright blue fading into white and silver of crashing waves around a naked body lounging in the middle. The man seemed to be asleep, completely at ease, resting in front of a headboard made of bright copper, shaped like the sun setting behind the turbulent ocean. Light reflected from the copper, making it shine, casting a golden glow over the figure underneath. 

Sanji was mesmerized, caught in the moment and in the scene before him, wishing he could paint it as it was; Poseidon surrounded by water in front of the setting sun. The daze was broken when the man stirred, breathing deeply as he stretched on the bed, making the sheets and covers move like waves before he looked up and noticed Sanji standing there. 

The grin that parted his lips, revealing perfect white teeth, was lazy and relaxed, mesmerizing all in itself. 

“Good evening,” he said soothingly, his voice deep and alluring and everything Sanji needed to hear at the moment. The man sat up in the bed, the covers pooling around his waist, but Sanji’s gaze was caught on the golden glint of the earrings hanging from his left ear.  The man was pulling himself out of the bed, and Sanji stepped closer, trying to look as if he wasn’t completely mesmerized. 

“Evening,” he said, voice revealing how amazed he was. “What do I call you?”

“Would you like my real name or do you prefer if I lie?” the man asked, amusement in his voice as he rose from the bed, bared and bathed in warm light from the fire. 

“Your name, if it’s all the same to you,” Sanji told him, stopping again near the bed, finding himself at a loss for what to do for the first time since he’d started going to the palace. The man, though, obviously had no such worries. 

“Zoro,” he said as he started moving around the bed, gracefully like a cat, the shifting of his muscles making the light touching his skin flutter with each step. Sanji couldn’t imagine how he’d never noticed this man before, how such a thing could have been possible in the first place.

“And what do I call you?” Zoro asked as he stepped in front of Sanji, the height difference between them barely a centimeter or two. He lifted his hands towards the hood of Sanji’s cloak, his movements slow and deliberate. “May I?” he asked softly once his fingers touched the fabric. 

“Yes,” Sanji said, still slightly dazed. “And you can call me whatever you’d like.”

The smile he got in reply was like sin itself and it only grew when he pulled the hood off Sanji’s head.

“Sunshine, perhaps?” he asked teasingly, his fingers carding through Sanji’s hair gently. 

Sanji couldn’t help but chuckle at that, behind his mask, and couldn’t find it in himself to object. “If you wish.”

“Well, sunshine,” Zoro started, teasing and amused, smiling as his hands slid down to Sanji’s shoulders, “may I remove your clothes?” 

His words were formal, but his tone was relaxed, his smile charming, and Sanji enjoyed it immensely, the ease with which Zoro carried himself, completely confident even while entirely naked, his presence commanding even as he asked for permission about everything he did.

“Since you ask so nicely…” Sanji said, now teasing just like Zoro had, and the laugh he got for his troubles sent a shiver down his spine. 

Zoro’s fingers undid the fastening of Sanji’s cloak before pulling it off completely, taking the time to drape it over the closest chair before he returned to Sanji. His fingers returned to where the strings of the cloak were, right over Sanji’s collarbone, tracing the skin there along the bone all the way to his shoulder, under the shirt. The touch made Sanji take a deep breath, but he suddenly felt as if he’d been in a trance from the moment he walked into the room and only woke at this moment, with scorching hot fingers touching up his neck. 

For a moment, he remembered that Gin touched him there and how unpleasant that had felt compared to this. Finally, he felt like himself again and that made him grin. 

“Are you planning on getting on with it before the carnival is over or will I have to come back next year for you to take my clothes off?” Sanji asked, setting a challenge as he finally lifted his hands, sliding them up Zoro’s sides slowly.

Zoro’s eyes seemed to darken at that, a growl slipping from his throat, but his lips twisted into a smirk, and Sanji almost shivered. Izou really knew who to pick for him. 

Zoro’s hands left him, only for a moment, but a moment too long nonetheless before they were gripping him under his ass and he was lifted off the floor, thighs parting to fit around Zoro’s hips. Sanji’s hands went to Zoro’s shoulders for balance, his nails digging into skin from the indignity. This was not what he’d been expecting. 

Before he could say anything, though, Zoro moved towards the bed, bracing himself on one knee as he balanced Sanji above it with an infuriating smirk. The way he held all of Sanji’s weight without a waver in his strength was impressive, but Sanji was far from willing to admit that. 

Zoro dropped him then, onto the bed, with nothing but that smirk on his face. His hands stayed on the back of Sanji’s thighs, nudging him to move up on the bed, and he only slid his hands down Sanji’s legs when he moved enough. Sanji glared, even though he knew the mask hid that from Zoro, as he leaned back on his elbows, watching Zoro lean down to take the boots off Sanji’s feet. 

He hadn’t spoken, focus entirely on Sanji’s legs as he moved forward, sliding his hands up Sanji’s legs, his touch feather light all the way up to the fastenings of his hose. Sanji could barely feel it, and it was driving him mad, especially knowing Zoro was completely aware of what he was doing. The look on his face revealed as much. 

However, he wasted no time in pulling his hose down, baring Sanji’s legs with practiced ease, but the hands that returned to his skin were gentle, the touch soft as Zoro parted Sanji’s thighs to make space for himself to settle in. He bent down, lips just a hairsbreadth from touching the skin of Sanji’s inner thigh, moving further up while his hands smoothed over Sanji’s hips, sliding his shirt higher to reveal his abdomen. 

The air in the room was warm, but Sanji’s skin broke out in goosebumps anyway from the touch of Zoro’s hands and the hotness of his breath. No matter how much Sanji expected it, Zoro didn’t avoid the hard line of his cock, letting his tongue run along the surface, closing his lips around the head just for a moment before he continued up towards Sanji’s navel. 

Sanji thought he might choke on the moan he barely kept from escaping his mouth, while his hands gripped the silk of the covers at his sides to stop himself from tangling his fingers into Zoro’s hair. Zoro was completely oblivious to his struggle to keep quiet or he was enjoying it silently, Sanji didn’t know, but his hands continued up his sides, thumbs pressing on his nipples. 

“Sit up,” Zoro said, more commanding than he’d been earlier, but the smirk was still there, just as infuriating and arousing as it had been before. 

Sanji did as he was told, sitting up to let Zoro pull the shirt over his head before throwing it off the side of the bed. 

“Happy now, sunshine?” Zoro asked, teasing, but not mocking, his hands already back on Sanji’s skin, going upwards again until Zoro had to lean over Sanji to bring them face to face. Or, Sanji supposed, face to mask. 

“Does the mask count as clothes as well?” Zoro asked, fingers sliding into his hair, caressing the string that still held the mask on while he waited for Sanji’s answer. 

“Do you really have to ask?” Sanji asked, knowing the effect his words and tone would have. “Or are you just afraid to take it off?”

Zoro reacted as Sanji thought he would, undoing the string as a response to the challenge Sanji barely voiced, before he was carefully moving the mask to the side, placing it on the far end of the bed. His eyes were glued to Sanji’s face, taking in his features until their eyes met, and Zoro leaned down, pressing their lips together in a kiss that was anything but chaste. 

The heat of his mouth was more intense than that of his hands and the way his lips moved, sliding over Sanji’s as he tilted his head to the side, was a challenge in itself, daring Sanji to keep up. And so he did, hands winding around Zoro’s middle instead of gripping at the covers. He held on tight, their lips still together, as Sanji twisted, using all the strength he possessed to roll Zoro onto his back.

Sanji settled on top of Zoro, the kiss never breaking as Sanji rolled his hips, seeking friction between them, and Zoro seemed to have the same idea, taking a hold of Sanji’s ass to press them closer together. There wasn’t much left on his mind in terms of rational thought in that moment, but Sanji couldn’t help but admit that there were far worse ways he could spend a week than not leaving this bed while Zoro was in it.

* * *

 

**The last judgement - Chapter 4 (unfinished)**

The city had barely changed in the ten months Sanji had been away. Not that he’d expected it to, honestly. It functioned perfectly the way it was and with the Portgas in power, or Roger at least, Sanji doubted anything would change drastically. 

They’d decided immediately not to travel between the villa and the city while they worked, so it really had been far too long since Sanji had left. He could admit that he’d missed it immensely; the bustle of people both domestic and foreigners, the smell of spices and fruit from the harbor, the cacophony of languages all around. Verona had precisely none of it and Sanji had been left with no one but Marco and Usopp for company. 

The younger lord Portgas had shown up on a few separate memorable occasions to check on their progress, though Sanji wouldn’t have used those precise words to describe his visits. He was surprised, however, once he’d seen the young lord and recognized him, or rather his freckles, from Marco’s workshop.

It wasn’t his place to judge, though, despite it being obvious Marco and Ace were more to each other than they’d let on. Marco’s work was as impeccable as ever and his discipline hadn’t slipped, so there was nothing to complain about. 

This city was his home and he hadn’t been away this long since he’d moved to Venice. The men lord Portgas had sent to help them on the journey had gone ahead with Usopp and their things, taking the horse Sanji had ridden on so he could enjoy the city at long last. It wasn’t a short walk, but he had the better part of the day for a leisurely stroll through the streets while Usopp had gone to put the house in order.

Usually, Sanji wasn’t much for long walks, especially when he caught everyone’s attention no matter where he walked, but being away for so long changed his mind for just this one day. The looks he was getting were somehow easier to ignore, but he knew that wouldn’t last long. Once he’d gotten some rest, he’d go back to normal which included hating the attention unless it was from the right kind of people. 

He didn’t bother with it, though, as he walked towards home through streets he hadn’t seen in ten months yet still knew as well as the back of his hand. Despite not being averse to the attention, Sanji still picked the least crowded streets on his way home, avoiding people on instincts, picking a gondola to cover the last of the journey once it became clear he was tiring more than expected. All the work and almost no sleep were catching up to him. Ten months was a long time to spend with long work days and not enough sleep, but they’d finished everything.

It was easy to forget about Gin and the letter he’d brought with him while he was busy, though. His feelings on the matter hadn’t changed in the slightest and all Sanji could do was hope Gin had left with whatever explanation for his father. He did his best not to think about the fact his father didn’t react well to failure of those he entrusted with a task, it didn’t matter whether that task was important or not. 

Sanji decided that he would worry about that only if he strictly needed to because he was far from ready to give up hope that Gin was, in fact, gone. Ten months was a long time to wait, after all, but Sanji let that go for the time being, focusing instead on the way the sun began to set and thus reminding him how long he’d been walking before the gondola ride. It was high time to go home, both because of his long absence and the walk he’d taken that tired him out. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this exhausted. 

Somehow he managed to climb out of the gondola and pay the gondolier before turning towards the gates of his home, visible in the distance. There was a chill in the air as the sun was setting, late autumn obvious in the fog that settled around him. After spending the summer and the better part of autumn in the country, Sanji wanted to do nothing more than see Venice in winter again. 

There were still two months until the carnival began again and Sanji found himself excited at the prospect of being there for the entire duration of the festivities that he was forced to miss before his trip. He did remember his week with Zoro vividly, though, and Sanji was anything but opposed to doing it again. 

The thoughts were distracting as Sanji relived each day as it played out, with barely leaving the room Izou let him use. Going to sleep and waking next to the same person day in and day out always made Sanji wish for something more than just living in his own little world during carnival, within the walls of Izou’s palace where he could pretend things were different. It was a depressing thought, if nothing else.

Sanji was moving on instinct, letting his feet take him home without sparing it another thought this close to his goal. He felt heavy in a way that meant all the sleep he’d missed was weighing him down and Sanji could hardly wait to fall into bed, perhaps curl around Venus. It was slightly surprising how much he’d missed her, but Usopp had dropped her off with Izou the night before they’d left for Verona so at least she’d been in good hands. 

Lost in thought, with a smile on his face, Sanji hadn’t noticed the figure approaching until there was a gloved hand over his mouth and someone’s full weight barrelling into him until his back hit the nearest wall. The back of his head knocked against the rough stones, disorienting him enough for his assailant to keep him in place.

“You should have known you can’t run from me, Sanji,” Gin whispered, breath hot on Sanji’s face. At least on the parts of it not covered by Gin’s hand. “And you know I can’t go back without you.”

Sanji’s head was throbbing, but his vision was no longer blurry and he could focus on Gin and the expression of rage on his face. He looked far more unhinged than during their last encounter and Sanji could only imagine what the past months looked for him. 

“I know where you’ve been after our last meeting,” Gin spoke, still in the same low voice, but the steadiness he’d had with his previous statement was gone. “I can guess what you were doing in there for a whole week.”

Seeing him like this made Sanji more afraid than he’d been in a long while, knowing there was no reasoning with Gin anymore. Sanji couldn’t tell whether Gin was doing this for Sanji’s father or for himself at this point, but the odds for a good outcome were getting worse with each passing second. There was something manic in his eyes, that spoke of a deeper involvement than just the wishes of Sanji’s father, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. 

“You’ve changed,” Gin said, still pressing Sanji against the wall and Sanji wished for his head to stop spinning so he could gathered his strength and fight back, but he was too off balance to do that. “I don’t know why they’d want someone as filthy as you back,” he continued, almost as if he wasn’t actually talking to Sanji.

Sanji was barely listening, anyway. 

“You’ve never belonged there,” Gin said suddenly, as if it was a revelation he’d only just made and it gave him pause, enough that Sanji pulled himself together and pushed Gin away.

“You don’t get to judge me!” Sanji shouted, finally aware enough to think of what Gin said and let himself feel the anger at the words. “You’ve betrayed me, Gin!” Sanji accused even though he’d gotten over it years ago. 

Even in the foggy street, Sanji could see Gin look as if he’d been slapped in the face, recoiling from Sanji and his words.

“You made a promise to me and broke it and now you dare come here, accusing me of not being who you once knew,” Sanji continued as Gin didn’t speak and he knew it was a mistake, he knew he should have gotten away, but this was a confrontation nine years in the making and he couldn’t keep quiet. “You sold me out to win my father’s favor and where did that bring you? Gin, the duke’s dog. I bet you do all his dirty work without even asking why,” Sanji spat out, with all the hatred he still held for his family and there was a lot of it still present in him.

Gin’s face was contorted with rage, each word cause him to flinch away from the barrage. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Gin said with clear uncertainty, shaking his head as if that would make the words Sanji had spoken go away.

“I know exactly what I’m talking about!” Sanji shouted. “He has an army of obedient servants just like you and none of them mean a thing to him. You’re nothing but a tool and not even a sharp one at that.”

“Shut up!” Gin shouted back. “You’re nothing but a whore, it’s no wonder you’d pick this city to run to. It’s overflowing with filth like you,” he continued, his words completely at odds with how he’d spoken to Sanji when they’d first spoken months ago. It sunk in then that this encounter wouldn’t end well, with Gin speaking to him as if they were enemies suddenly, insulting him in this specific manner when he’d once been Sanji’s first love. 

That had once been the only good part of Sanji’s life in Calais. 

“It’s easy to cast all the hate on me now, isn’t it, Gin?” Sanji asked. “As if you’re not the one to break a promise. You’re as worthless as your honor.” Sanji almost shocked himself with the amount of disgust in his voice.

Gin barrelled into him again, once again taking Sanji by surprise and shoving him against the wall. His head smashed against what felt like the same spot on the walls, disorienting Sanji again, enough that he’d missed whatever it was Gin hissed at him. His venomous tone, however, was impossible to miss.

That was no longer important, though, because the words were followed by swift sting, before the pain and an awful burning spread through his side. It hadn’t hurt at first, for a short moment when everything seemed to stand still. Sanji gasped, incredulously and so quietly, even he himself almost missed before time somehow sped up and Gin pushed away, stumbling away from Sanji with a bloody blade in his hand, the dark red staining his skin.

The look on his face was one of shock, unmistakable and ugly as it morphed into something akin to regret. Sanji didn’t believe it for a moment, not when his knees gave out and he started sliding down the rough stone wall, the fabric of his coat tearing where the sharp stones caught the threads. He didn’t pay attention to it, his hand pressing firmly at the bleeding wound, but his eyes couldn’t look away from Gin.

“Sanji,” he muttered, wide eyed and frantic, but doing nothing to approach where Sanji sat on the ground. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-” he started, but cut himself off when someone called Sanji’s name, breaking into a run not a moment later. 

Usopp was crouching in front of him the next time Sanji opened his eyes, unsure when he’d closed them in the first place. His face was marred with worry and panic, voice frantic as he tried to get Sanji’s attention, but Sanji just couldn’t focus. 

“Sanji?” Usopp questioned hurriedly, unable to calm down as his hands came up to rest on Sanji’s shoulders, looking as if he was ready to shake Sanji if he had to. Sanji could pinpoint the exact moment Usopp’s fingers touched the blood seeping through the heavy fabric of his doublet, the widening of his eyes giving it away.

“Oh, God, Sanji what happened?” Usopp asked, voice shaky and eyes trying to get a look at the wound, but couldn’t with all the fabric in the way. “I need to get you inside, find you a doctor!”

Usopp rose frantically, obviously trying to think of a way to help Sanji, but couldn’t think of a way how. 

“No,” Sanji said, mind clearing enough to look around, trying to see if Gin was nearby. Of course he couldn’t see anyone but Usopp, but that didn’t mean much. “It’s not safe,” he added even though he doubted Gin would be back to finish his job. He continued pressing his hand on the wound even though he could feel his stomach rolling, he could feel himself growing weaker from the blood loss and they had to move soon. 

“Take me to Izou,” Sanji said, wincing as he tried to stand. “Find a gondola, there’s a canal entrance to the palace.” If there was one place he could go to feel safe and where know no one would come looking for him, it would be with Izou. He may not have been thinking all too clearly, but Sanji knew he hadn’t asked Gin whether he’d come alone. At the moment, he was too vulnerable to risk someone coming for him and taking him back to France by force.

Usopp looked frightened, but jumped forward to help Sanji stand immediately. If he had time for it, Sanji would have thought of just how trustworthy Usopp had always been, there to help him even when he was completely scared of what they’d gotten themselves into. With the pain wracking through him, though, Sanji could barely think of anything else. 

The sensation grew worse as he was lifted off the ground, equal parts through Sanji and Usopp’s strength, but the pain was Sanji’s alone. Keeping the sounds at bay was the hardest part by far, but he knew they had to leave and go to someplace safe before he passed out or Gin came back. 

The fact Usopp was taking it all in stride without questioning Sanji’s decisions made things infinitely easier, mostly because Sanji didn’t have to talk and give instructions. It would have been a difficult thing to do anyway, with the way he was barely awake enough to notice when they’d gotten to the canal and into a gondola. In a different situation, Sanji would have laughed at the way Usopp said he was taking a drunk friend home before giving instructions without a hint of the fear he hadn’t been able to shake before.

Sanji barely noticed the swaying of the gondola as they made their way through the canals, far faster than walking would have taken them all the way to the palace. Even more so with the injury and how it was slowing them down. With the way he was bleeding, however, Sanji had his doubts about whether he’d be able to get out of the gondola at all.

They stopped all too soon and Sanji was woken violently by Usopp pounding frantically on the heavy door of the palace’s entrance on the small dock in the canal. Sanji hadn’t noticed when they’d stopped or when Usopp had gotten out, but he was awake when the heavy door opened and Usopp asked the guard to get Izou quickly. The panic was back in his voice and Sanji worried for him and what kind of effect this would have on Usopp. 

Barely a moment later, or at least what felt like a moment, Sanji was helped out of the gondola by Izou and someone else. It was hardly the time to think about how strong Izou actually was, under that seemingly delicate exterior, but it was also difficult to ignore when he was the one supporting most of Sanji’s weight as they got out of the gondola and into the palace. 

It was nothing but a blur to Sanji, all the stairs and frantic voices and Usopp’s insistence that he didn’t know who did it and why, pleading that they helped Sanji because that mattered more than answers at the moment. Sanji couldn’t help but agree with that, the pain almost unbearable now that he felt safe enough to stop focusing on his surroundings and instead felt the brunt of his wound. Being placed on a soft bed came as a relief to an extent, but he wasn’t allowed to lie down, instead Izo and Usopp closed in on him, removing his coat and doublet. 

The worst part had to have been peeling the shirt from the wound, soaked in blood and stuck to his skin, pulling at the smooth edges of the cut as it was pulled away and Sanji would have fallen over from the pain, had Usopp not been there to keep him steady and upright. He could hear the voices around him, recognizing Usopp with the greatest ease and Izou as well, but the third voice was both familiar and unfamiliar all at once. 

That hardly mattered when warm hands guided him back onto the bed until he was lying down at last, feeling as if falling asleep was the best idea. The pain was too much, though, and the voices too frantic, but Sanji still felt his eyelids growing heavier with each passing second.

“Stay awake for me, sunshine,” that third voice, familiar and unfamiliar, said calmly while warm hands touched Sanji’s side, close to the wound, but not close enough for him to be in pain because of it. 

Forcing himself to try and remember where he knew the voice from and why he was being called ‘sunshine’ of all things kept Sanji from falling asleep, at least, but there was something in him bristling at following this man’s instructions. He couldn’t quite remember why that was, not that it mattered much to him once the hands moved and a sharp pain shot out from his wound, spreading through his side.

“I’m sorry, this is going to hurt,” the voice spoke again, softly in the silence and Sanji noticed only then that they were alone, Izou and Usopp seemingly gone without him noticing. 

A warm hand brushed his forehead, sweeping the hair back for a moment in a gesture of comfort he so desperately needed in the moment. It was quickly replaced by a burning wave in his side, one that didn’t subside at all and Sanji screwed his eyes shut, unsure whether the scream came from his mouth or someone else’s. He could feel himself shake with the intensity of the pain, sweat pouring from him over skin that was both too hot and too cold. 

The warm pressure points where those hands touched him were a small comfort in the face of such overwhelming pain, but it was something for Sanji to focus on to keep himself awake as he was told to do. It was working if he tried hard enough, but he couldn’t do it forever, the pain too much to bear. His head had already been feeling unusually light from losing all the blood and he’d soon realized that the pain was no longer there, but he was tired, more than he could describe and his eyes had already been closed. 

“No, no, don’t fall asleep,” he voice said softly, before cursing violently as Sanji slipped away, giving in to the pull of sleep he’d been fighting for what felt like forever. 

All too soon, Sanji startled awake, mouth incredibly dry to the point where his lips were almost glued together when he’d tried to open his mouth. He opened his eyes, at least, managing to look around before a cold cloth pressed against his forehead and suddenly he knew what had woken him. There was no way of knowing how long it had been since he’d fallen asleep, but the pain in his side was down to an almost manageable degree. 

“You’re awake!” Usopp exclaimed before his grinning face made it into Sanji’s field of vision. He looked so incredibly relieved, but Sanji could still feel the shaking of his hand where it held the cold cloth against his forehead. “I need to tell Zoro,” Usopp added before scrambling up from the bed and leaving the room, leaving the soothing cold cloth on Sanji’s forehead.

It was unpleasant at first, but as Sanji woke fully, he realized there was an unsettling feeling of heaviness in his limbs, his skin feeling almost as if it were on fire yet his chest was cold where it was bare save for a layer of sweat. Sanji could tell he undoubtedly had a fever, something he could recognize even after years of not being sick. This, of course, was far from a common cold, he didn’t need a doctor to tell him that. 

The door opened once again, but Sanji did nothing to even try lifting his head in an attempt to see who it was that came in. Usopp was obviously back, but Sanji ignored his excited chatter for the time being, too lost in the feeling of burning alive. He’d only noticed when the door was closed again with a click and Usopp’s voice was gone. 

“Can you hear me, sunshine?” a familiar voice said, drawing Sanji’s attention. 

It took him probably too long to focus on the man next to him, but once he did, Sanji recognized him without a problem, from that deep voice and the ridiculous pet name to the green tint to his hair in this light. 

“My name is Sanji,” he said, hating how scratchy his voice sounded, but his mouth was far too dry to speak normally, “not sunshine.”

Zoro chuckled, voice like a calming melody to Sanji at the moment as his head throbbed from the fever, eyes feeling too hot to stay open for too long and he closed them as soon as his fever addled mind remembered that was an option. 

“You said I can call you anything I’d like,” Zoro told him as he gently removed the cloth from Sanji’s forehead. He kept his voice soft, low enough that it was almost soothing to his throbbing head instead of making the headache worse.

Sanji could hear water splattering before the cloth was back, once again cold and the heat was soothed. 

“I suppose you could have picked something worse,” he said, sighing through his relief at feeling the cold on his skin. 

“I still could,” Zoro replied distractedly, removing his hand from Sanji’s forehead, before leaning out of Sanji’s view. “Many things come to mind, actually.”

He sounded as if he might start listing what it was that came to mind, but the door creaking open interrupted him and Sanji silently thanked whoever it was for coming in just then. Somewhat hazily, through the fever and the time that had passed, Sanji could remember the last time he'd met Zoro. 

Ignoring how everything was tinted with lust, Sanji remembered the constant bickering and banter that couldn't be stopped even when they were preoccupied with other things. Zoro had a way of riling him up like no one else, all the while making him feel pleasure like he’d rarely experienced before. It was the first time Sanji had considered going back even without the cover of carnival, all for this one man that was amazingly good at pissing him off.

“Sanji?” Usopp called out before Sanji felt the shift of the bed next to him and Usopp’s face came into his field of vision. “What happened? Do you know who did this to you?”

Sanji closed his eyes for a moment, unsure how to explain the situation. He was quite unsure whether he himself even understood the situation at all, but it’s escalated enough for him to know that neither Usopp nor Izou, now that he was dragged into it, would let this go. Some explanations were due, at least.

“I know who it was,” he said finally, after the silence had stretched a bit too much, momentarily wondering if the two of them were alone in the room. He couldn’t remember whether he’d heard the door open or not, but wasn’t inclined to try and move to see if Zoro was still there. 

He sighed then, not too thrilled to talk about his past and his family back in Calais, but Usopp had a right to know now that they were both possibly in danger.

“The man that came to see me before we left for Verona,” Sanji started, “the one that works for my father.”

“He’s still here?” Usopp sounded so awfully shocked, as if he’d expected Gin to just give up. 

Sanji couldn’t fault him for that. After all, he’d only shared the bare minimum about them, things that revealed just how horrid they were towards Sanji himself without delving into anything else. Usopp had no way of knowing that Gin was most likely a dead man if he dared return without Sanji in tow after being given the task to bring him back. 

“He won’t leave until I’m willing to go with him,” Sanji replied, deciding his head hurt far too much to think about Gin in detail at the moment. Or to explain that this was precisely the reason he’d asked to go to Izou instead of seeking a doctor to come to them; Gin couldn’t touch him in there. Despite what many might say about Izou’s business, the palace was more safe than any other place in the city. 

There was no sneaking into the palace without Izou knowing, let alone trying to sneak past the guards at every corner, and Sanji had first hand knowledge of just how unreceptive all of them were of bribes. 

 


End file.
